but you
by Cloudsinmycoffee9
Summary: Robert and Cora Crawley face uncertain times. A Cobert drabble, loosely based on S6 speculation …
1. Chapter 1

He was concentrating so intensely on the ledgers - his pen scratching quickly across the pages, grunting words to himself under his breath - that he never even heard her enter the room.

He jumped when her hands rested on his shoulders. "Cora," he breathed without turning fully around, knowing by the weight and shape of her fingers on him that it was her. "You startled me."

"I'm sorry, darling. I didn't mean to." He sounded annoyed but she leaned to kiss the top of his head, once, twice, idly staring at the thinning grey streaks running across his scalp. "What are you still working on? You should be - "

"It's nothing to trouble you with. I just have a few more things I wanted to go over, before tomorrow, before meeting with Murray and Tom, now that he's here. I want to make sure I have it all in order." He reached for the glass of Scotch on his desk, sipping slowly on it. "I can't have anything out of order," he added softly.

She rubbed her hands over the top of his jacket, stifling a sigh. His muscles were so tense under her palms and she feared the results of the meetings she knew he would be having over the next few days as he seriously discussed the future of the estate with the necessary people. After dinner with the family, so much more lively with Tom and Sybbie back at the moment, they'd passed through for a few hours to drink and play cards, and then she'd gone up and changed for bed. In a new nightgown, with her hair braided loosely over her shoulder, she'd sat in bed with a book in her lap for at least an hour before she'd given up any pretense of reading and had gone off in search of her husband. He'd never made it up to meet with Bates - she'd gone over to his dressing room and dismissed Bates off to Anna. There was only one place he would be, and had been too often as of late. And she couldn't take it anymore. She was tired of trying to go to sleep without him, and waking up with only a dent on the pillow beside her to let her know that he had been there in the night.

"Go back to your bedroom, Cora. I'll be there soon." He quickly pressed his lips to her cheek in dismissal.

His words hurt, for she wanted to be included, wanted to be troubled. After all they had been through in the last few years, didn't he at least know better than to say those exact words to her? Hadn't they sworn to stand by each other, nearly forty years ago? Hadn't they endured their share of hardships and survived them, only stronger, and only together?

And what could barely pass for a kiss was the most affection he'd shown her in days, as he'd been so busy. But she steeled herself and pressed forward, wanting him and needing him to let these things go for the night and come to her, come find her. Come find her and be with her in this storm that seemed to be gathering around them.

Her hands slid slowly around him until she was leaning over him, cheek pressed to his cheek, arms fully around his chest.

"'My' bedroom?" she asked, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Am I in some sort of trouble that you would send me to 'my' bedroom all alone? I was thinking it would be so nice to walk with my husband up to 'our' bedroom, and spend some time there together," she teased, whispering into his ear. "Come to bed, Robert. Come lie next to me. Please, darling, I need - "

He raised his hand to the side to cut her off. "Cora, stop, please. I need to be here and I need you to understand that."

His tone made her breath catch in her throat and then draw back immediately, her arms falling to her sides, her fingers reaching for the ruffles of her dressing gown, tucking away inside them before she curled her arms back around herself. She paused long enough to hear his sharp intake of breath as he regretted his words. His eyes met hers for just a moment as he spun around in his chair.

"Forgive me, dearest, I simply have too much - "

"It's quite all right, Robert. I'll just … I'll just …" she couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence, turning and heading for the door and walking as steadily as she could to the stairs. Back up to be alone in what had indeed become her own room again, after all this time.

She was simultaneously grateful and hurt that she heard no footsteps coming after her as she raced blindly up the stairs, hot tears stinging her eyes. She gulped sobs back down until she was inside her chambers, suddenly angry and sad and scared enough to fling the key in the lock, effectively shutting out her husband who had spent the last few months shutting her out again.

 _After all this time, Robert? After all this time?_ she cried angrily to herself, crawling back into bed and turning to face the fire. It was lit every night as it had been since she had first arrived at the Abbey so many years ago - she'd lost count of how many nights she'd fallen asleep gazing into the flames, sometimes thanking God for the heat it provided for her "weak American blood," as Mama would probably still call it, or simply thanking God for the distraction from her own thoughts and worries, or walking the room with a fussy daughter, rocking and breast-feeding from the corner chair, or watching the dying embers cast shadows on her husband's face as he slept beside her.

Now she looked into the fire and wondered if the fire between herself and Robert had been permanently extinguished. He was so caught up in the estate, the money, his legacy - would it ever end? Would they ever have a moment of peace and contentment? Had they come so far and fought so hard, survived so much, to be reduced to this? Had she lost him again, just when she'd thought everything from the last few years with the silliness of Simon Bricker had been repaired? Would they not be able to hold hands and enjoy their grandchildren and perhaps travel and take slower and shorter walks on the grounds together, as she'd always imagined?

Cora hugged a pillow to herself, a poor substitute for the husband she dearly missed. She stared into the flames, and cried herself to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

He called her name again as she turned and nearly ran away from him. His earlier words tasted bitter in his mouth and he hung his head for a moment, knowing how careless it had been of him to say such things. Of all people, she didn't deserve such unfeeling words.

There was no use for it, though. He nodded to himself - he would, he _must_ remember to apologize in the morning. She'd looked so hurt, nearly running away. He knew she'd simply been looking after him, as she always did. Simply asking him to come to bed at what was already past any sort of reasonable hour. Truthfully, he was probably too tired to do any good, and he would like nothing better than to lie in her arms for the rest of the night. And well into the morning, if he could. Robert was exhausted and burnt out and when he let himself think about it, he knew he'd been terribly absent as of late. He'd been working day and night to find solutions to the problems that seemed to multiply whenever he allowed himself to sleep. He could not properly recall the last time he and Cora had walked the grounds together, or had tea just the two of them. Making love seemed like a distant memory from another time, it had been so long.

He looked back again at the door she had just exited through, then closed his eyes, remembering the feel of her arms around him and her warm words in his ear and the brief surge of strength and wholeness he always felt whenever she was near. He immediately felt shame at the tone he had taken with her. He missed her.

But she would understand. She _had_ to understand. She'd been at the estate sale with him, the dreadful auction of their friends forced to parcel off what they could. It had been a ghastly affair and so terribly embarrassing. He simply _had_ to check all the figures again, for the good of the estate, for the sake of their children and grandchildren and all they held dear. He had to see if anything had been overlooked, any stone unturned, any miraculous solution that could be called upon to help save Downton from an embarrassing and disastrous end.

They'd faced so many trials and tribulations, and overcome nearly all of them, hadn't they? Surely there was a way to overcome this . . .

He mused quietly, picking up his glass to sip from as he leaned back in his chair, eyes turning now to the window and noticing briefly how dark it was, how quiet it was when no one was awake in the house save him.

The estate had faced potential ruin multiple times over the years. First his marriage to Cora had saved it, her money had saved it countless times over, really. Then it had been her faith in Matthew that had truly convinced him to use some of the ideas about modernization and progress for the running of the estate. And then Matthew again had saved them, and the work that Mary and Tom had done, guiding him into the modern age with their new, fresh ideas. Again, Cora had always seen the merit in a new approach to things. She always did believe the best in people.

In fact, when the dust from the whole Bricker incident had settled, when he'd begun to ask for her opinions on the new developments and options for modern machinery and methods of managing the vast estate, he'd been reminded of how quick and sharp her mind was - of her ability to see things from so many angles, often asking questions he had yet to arrive at himself.

He smiled into the last sip of Scotch, suddenly terribly proud of the woman he'd married. He hadn't known all of it at the time they'd wed - he'd pursued her for her money and her money alone, they both knew that. She'd been pretty - no, beautiful, truly beautiful. And polite and sweet. There had definitely been a spark of attraction, something he had been unable to define at the time that had pulled him to her like a moth to the flame.

He'd been lectured on the importance of finding a girl with the money to save Downton, and there had been more than a few with the adequate funds, but something about her, even from the very beginning . . .

The lads from university had elbowed him and teased him about his good fortune to land a girl so attractive, someone so desirable, someone whose dance card had barely had room for him the first two times he's seen her in a ballroom that fateful season so long ago. God knows why, but she'd agreed to marry him. She'd seen something in him and something in their future that he couldn't have predicted or even valued at the time. He had been every bit the fortune hunter she teased him about being later, when they could tease each other, when the awkwardness had disappeared, when they'd learned to live together and love together and be a family.

No, he hadn't known it when they'd wed, he'd learned slowly just how intelligent and clever and witty she was. He'd learned slowly and savored it - the knowing. And he'd fallen in love with her more deeply than he ever would have thought possible. Fallen in love with her quiet but thoughtful questions that somehow made him open up and talk to her, with her unguarded honesty, with her persistent belief in people. Fallen deeper still with how she raised their girls, somehow managed his mother, and directed the entire estate like she had been born to do so. And then . . . in the way she still wore her hair down just for him, the softening of her eyes at him from across the dinner table, and the sweet encouragements she whispered to him in the dark.

"Bloody fool," he cried suddenly, standing up. He spun around, taking in the room - the fire nearly dead in the fireplace, the steady tick tock of the great clock on the wall, and the startling realization that he'd spent nearly every night for the last two months alone in this room for hours after dark, pouring over every scrap of paper, every book, every print of news he could get his hands on to try and find some way to save himself from absolute ruin, when the most important answers all along had been lying in bed waiting patiently for him upstairs, as she had been, always so loyal, for so many years.

He took the steps two at a time, eyes craning upwards, praying and hoping against hope that the light under her door was still shining.


	3. Chapter 3

He hadn't seen any light from under the door, but he'd let himself into his room quietly, noting that Cora had probably had Bates sent away hours ago. He undressed himself quickly, something he'd become more adept at as of late, given the hours he had been keeping, and slipped himself through the dressing room door. The fire still burned softly in the corner and he smiled to see her small frame curled up facing the dying flames. He padded over quietly to her side to look at her - his smile changing to a frown when he noted the sad expression on her face, even in sleep, and the tracks of tears that reflected on her cheeks.

"Oh, my dearest one," he whispered, keen to hold her. He walked back over to his side to pull back the covers.

He slid in behind her and gently, as not to wake her, lay his arm across where hers held down the blankets in front of her chest. The warmth of her back spread against his chest and even in her sleep she snuggled towards him, drawn to him, reaching her foot back to hook over his legs and urge him closer to fill in the spaces. He felt a sense of relaxation wash over him as he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and inhaled the smells of her soap and faint whiff of perfume left lingering. He eased his fingertips over hers and felt them link together, he whispered "I'm so sorry, darling. Forgive me."

"Of course," Cora murmured back, voice heavy with sleep, bringing his hand with hers into her chest. He smiled as she tucked them together against her heart and settled in to sleep when she started suddenly.

"Robert! What are you doing here?"

* * *

His shock at her tone and question was evident when she turned to face him.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, pulling back his arms. "Cora - are you quite all right?"

She glanced at the befuddled and very 'Robert' look on his face and then back to the door that led to the hallway before realizing - in her emotional state and in her haste, she'd thrown the lock on the true bedroom door, the one that led in and out of the main hallway, but not, however, on the one between their dressing rooms, through which he would have surely entered. She nearly rolled her eyes at herself, and a sound halfway between an aggravated sigh and a chuckle escaped her lips. _Well, Cora,_ she thought. _You're clearly too old to throw a proper tantrum at your husband._

He'd taken advantage of her pause to reach up a hand to stroke her cheek with the backside of his fingers. "Are you talking in your sleep again?" he asked indulgently, smiling at her. "You haven't done that in years. You must be as tired as I feel. Come here, darling." He scooted back on the pillows and opened up his embrace to her. "Let me hold you."

She was sitting up, half-turned to face him and his invitation to lie back down in his arms. As much as a small part of her still hurt, and wanted him to know that she'd felt his dismissal so acutely that she'd actually meant to keep him out of her bedroom for the evening, the lovely warmth of his embrace and the tenderness on his face as he looked at her were beckoning her back down before she'd even made a conscious decision to do so.

Perhaps she should just let it go, she thought. He'd be terribly hurt if he knew she'd locked the door. He'd been working so hard lately - running around the estate with Mary nearly every day, investigating new claims and ideas and inventions every week, trying to solve the massive riddle that was running Downton efficiently and effectively in this new age. Cora'd urged Mary to assume more tasks, and she had tried, but Robert still felt too much responsibility to truly let anything go completely into Mary's hands until he absolutely had to. And with the news of estate auctions and bankruptcy and ruin of so many of their friends and acquaintances . . . she knew her husband and how he was wont to take care of them all, how he wouldn't rest until he was assured he had done all he could, even when there seemed there was nothing left that he might be able to do. She resolved to be more patient with him, and to not bring it up again. She found it was easier to promise this to herself when he was looking at her with such love and tenderness.

Cora shifted and turned completely to him, smiling as she felt one arm reach around her, and his other hand reach for her thigh to draw it up and over his hip, before placing it on the small of her back to press her closer to him. She looked up at him, expecting a lazy grin and perhaps a promising look of something more to come, but instead his fingers tilted her chin up closer to his mouth so that he could place his lips gently first one cheek, and then the other, lightly kissing away the places she felt dry with her earlier tears.

"I've made you cry, Cor. I am so sorry. I shouldn't have said those things. And I know I've been a terrible husband lately. I do hope you'll forgive me."

Her heart skipped warmly in surprise. "Oh, Robert!" she cried softly, choking on her words. She smiled at him through newly forming tears, leaning up to place her hands on his cheeks and drawing their foreheads together, closing her eyes and reveling in the feel of his body around hers and the somewhat nervous breaths he drew beneath her. "There's nothing - but of course I forgive you, darling. I - I wasn't hurt, exactly, and I do understand all this pressure you feel yourself under." She sighed and pressed their bodies closer together. "I'm worried about you. You're working so hard, and sleeping so little. And I've missed you so. Missed you like this. In all ways, Robert."

"Cora . . . Cora . . . " and he brought her lips to his, his hands drawing up and down her back, pressing her closer to him. And they shifted against one another, and they kissed to remember each other, and they kissed to forget almost everything else. In the dying firelight and the warm cocoon they were creating against the cold English night and the unknown of the future, for just a few minutes, nothing existed but them.

She finally pulled back, studying him, a smile playing at the corner of her lips as he smoothed her hair down and half-heartedly pulled at the ribbons that held her braid until her hair was loose and flowing around her. "Robert," she warned, their old game. He'd always prefered her hair down, and she'd always patently shied away from eye contact with O'Brien and then Baxter on the mornings after, as they attempted to brush through the snarls and tried to muffled their tsks.

But he made no further move, only smiled, carding his fingers through her hair before moving his arms to hold her against his chest.

"Can I confess something to you?" he asked, his voice thoughtful.

"Of course."

"I think . . . I think I'm rather nervous with Tom here. I'm not quite sure how to explain it."

"Nervous? Whatever do you mean?" she fingered the collar of his pajamas and couldn't resist kissing his neck and the underside of his jaw. Her stoic English husband suddenly nervous around the Irish son-in-law? She nearly laughed. "How could Tom make you nervous? I thought you were delighted to have them here. We've both missed them so much." She kissed his neck again as she lay her head on his shoulder.

"I'm terribly pleased they're both here. I've missed Sybbie more than I can say. It's just . . . Tom did so much here for the estate, with Matthew and then Mary. And now he's been gone for a turn, and I've tried to stay the course. And Mary's brilliant - really and truly she is. I have every confidence in her. I just don't want Tom to be disappointed in anything that's happened since he's left."

"I don't see how he could be. You've managed to do a great deal. There are several things outside of your control or Mary's control. But I think he will be pleased."

"Sybil would laugh to hear me say it, but I have rather missed his outspoken opinions. Missed the challenge. He always kept me on my toes. It's good to have him back, if only for a while."

"They do say iron sharpens iron, dear," she teased, squeezing him lightly to overcome the rush of emotion she always felt whenever they mentioned their baby girl and the moments she was missing. "I know you've had your differences, Robert, between you and Tom, but can I tell you I love you even more for how you've overcome them together? You see him as truly part of the family, and it makes me so very glad. It's what Sybil would have wanted."

"It feels strange to say, but I can't imagine our family without him now. And he's doing such a splendid job with Sybbie. Of course, he lived with such excellent examples of proper parenting while here at Downton, so it should come as no surprise."

"Please. You and I have hardly been perfect parents. One needn't look very far for evidence of that. And Sybbie is all Sybil and Tom. He's a wonderful father to her."

"Hm. Well, if you won't admit to being a nearly perfect mother, I can tell you with absolute certainty - and will accept no argument - that you have been the perfect wife for me."

She buried her smiling face in his chest, holding him closer. "Thank you."

"And I meant what I said earlier, Cor," he added, lightly stroking her hair. "I'm sorry I've been so . . . well, absent, I suppose. You deserve better. And I hope you see I've been working so hard to try and preserve what I can - save what I can of Downton. For you, me, the girls, everyone. I know things are changing for our lot, and I can't predict all the pieces that will come into play, but I must try."

"I know, Robert. I expect nothing less of you. And I love you for it, even when I am worried for you."

"I know you worry. I'm sorry, my dear. I must do what I can. All that I can." He kissed the top of her head, and they lay against each other in the dark, content to hold one another, lost in their own thoughts for a few moments, until Cora propped herself up on her elbow to face him.

"Do you remember what you said to me, the night you went to tell Edith that you knew about Michael Gregson?" she broke the silence softly.

A moment passed before he answered. "I remember you asking me to look after myself, but I reminded you that that is your job, and that you do it far better than I ever could."

She smiled half-heartedly at him before continuing. "You'd just told me the news from your doctor, and I wanted you to come to bed - "

"As you nearly always do," he interrupted, teasing.

She rolled her eyes. " - and wait until the morning to speak to Edith. But you said you had to tell her that night, at that moment, because 'you never know what's coming.'"

"Ah, right. I suppose I did."

She took a deep breath to steady herself, sitting up further and reaching to run her fingers through his thinning hair, and looked into his blue eyes she had always found so much comfort and strength in. "I want to tell you something. Robert, we don't know what's coming. You and I will both hope and pray for the best for Downton. If there is a solution to be found I have every confidence you and Mary and now Tom will find it. This place, these walls . . ." she glanced around the room that had long ceased to be 'hers' and was simply theirs. Where it was no secret that the servants and the girls could always find them together. "Our beautiful children were born here. . . I have loved you here and I want to die in your arms in this bed if God is willing."

"A very, very long time from now, I hope," he smiled, squeezing her lightly.

"A very, very long time from now," she smiled back. "But if we must leave and live a different life in a different place, you and I will still be all right, Robert. In these uncertain times, it matters a great deal to me that you know that and believe that. That if we have each other, and our beautiful family, we will still have what we need. Come what may. I may be worried, but I'm hopeful, and I will always be by your side."

He paused for a moment, seemingly unable to speak. "Cora. How do you always stay so positive? The house could fall down around us this moment, but you always manage to look on the bright side of things. You always make me feel better. I don't deserve your faith in me, after all we've been through."

"Of course you do, Robert. I chose you then and I chose you now."

"For better or for worse?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion as he cupped her face with his hand.

"For all of it. Forever," she answered simply, bringing his hand to her lips to kiss his knuckles, smiling at the tender look on his face. "Well, I've said what I wanted to say. I know you have a big meeting tomorrow, darling. Shall we get our rest?"

He nodded, pulling her back down to nestle her head into the crook of his neck, and arms around each other, they both slept better than they had in weeks.

* * *

"You're still here," she whispered in surprise when he opened his eyes. Oh, but she'd missed waking up in his arms, missing seeing him like this - his hair in a thousand directions, looking adorably young, and delightfully affectionate as he adjusted to the waking world.

"So it would seem," he managed, moving with surprising speed for one just awake to turn her in his arms and snuggle her back up to his chest. She giggled and wiggled against him, threading their fingers together across her chest.

"Hmm," he grunted into her ear. "God, but I've missed you in the mornings."

"I've been right here," she reminded him delicately.

"I know, dearest. I know." He held her for a moment longer before continuing. "I am quite rested this morning, and would love nothing more than to stay here and prove it to you, but I'm afraid I must be off. Like time, Murray and Mary will wait for no man."

Cora allowed herself a tiny sigh. "Of course, darling," she turned over her shoulder and kissed him on the cheek and then the lips. "Perhaps, if you can, after luncheon, maybe the two of us could - "

"Yes," he answered.

She giggled. "But I haven't even said what I wanted to do with you, silly man!"

"Doesn't matter," he kissed her. " _Yes_."


End file.
